01/03/31

I've said it many times, Firefighting can be both hilarious and horrible, and is very often both at the same time. Another thing it is is educational.

I've learned so many things in all the emergencies that I've responded to that it boggles even my mind. I've learned how people react to crises, I've learned just how few people actually prepare for emergencies. I've learned how I react to stressful situations and just how many things can go right, go wrong, and just how little control any of us have over any of it. Sometimes, quite frankly, we're just along for the ride and so we may as well sit down, shut up, and hang on. Sometimes you just have to stand there and watch the story unfold. I've learned that sometimes I have to just go with the urge of the moment and trust in instinct. Sometimes it's the wrong thing to do I admit, but sometimes it can have some really unexpected results.

I've also learned that sometimes things are truly stranger than fiction. Sometimes I witness things that if they were projected on a screen in front of me I would laugh them off as being totally implausible.

Case in point: A few nights ago was a collection of events so bizzarre that I'm still shaking my head about it.

0330 the pager sounds when I'm at home and asleep. "Hall 9 you have a structure fire, a structure fire. Mushroom barn at 12770 93 avenue"  Being on-call 24/7 has some drawbacks, one of them is the middle of the night call. In these calls we go from dead asleep to awake and starting the car in 10 or 15 seconds. At night the Battallion Chief and I go directly to the call to size it up and prepare a strategy while the rest of the crew go to the firehall and roll the rigs. Unfortunatley sometimes hazards lurk around the corners of our homes... and sometimes the hazards ARE the corners of our homes. This night the pager beeps and I vault out of bed, into my t-shirt, sweatpants, socks and and down the hallway at a run. I've done it so many hundreds of times I don't bother turning on a light. This night I went down the hall , misjudged in the darkness and did a faceplant into the corner of a wall. I spent may years in the amateur boxing ring, so I know all too well the peculiar "Crack" that my nose makes when it breaks. The pain, shock, and confusion that suddenly took me in the complete darkness were overwhelming. I slammed backward into another wall and lay on the floor for a couple of heartbeats. Fortunately I quickly realized what had happened and I got up and made my way out the back door to my Jeep. All the way there I was acutely aware of the pain in my nose (well who the hell wouldn't be), and the tears streaming down my face (When you break your nose, often your eyes water like hell for a few minutes afterward) I was in too much of a hurry to worry all that much about it. The facts were clear, my nose was broken and it hurt, but I was still fully functional and thinking as clearly as I ever do in the middle of the night.

I drove to the call and found a commercial mushroom barn burning. The place where the mushrooms you buy in the store are grown). It was actually two barns, 150' by 100' each. The fire was rocking hard. the two barns were connected by a breezeway down the middle. One set of barns was on fire, the other was not. The trucks were coming from a long way off, and there were plans to be made. As I trotted past him, the Battallion Chief (who was there just ahead of me and in command of the fire) saw me and pointed at me. His orders to me were simple, clear and to the point. each of us knows how the other thinks and there isn't much need for long discussions at a time like that "Suppression!" he shouted at me, what that meant is "Bryant, you are now in charge of all fire suppression efforts" He would be in charge of the entire fire scene, he would decide what resources to call (second, third alarm etc.) He would control everyone out at the road, but the fire was mine. My job was to make it go out. I would direct the crews and the hose lines, I would make the decisions that would win or lose the fight. The Firefighters on the lines would do the real work and I would direct and supervise them. It's a really thrilling job, but, as you might imagine, pretty high-stress for awhile. As he passed me, he shone his flashlight in my face and said "Jesus! are you okay??" I said "yeah, I just whacked my nose on the way out of the house" It still hurt like hell, but it wasn't important right then.

You have to understand, this mushroom barn is in a rural area, mushroom farming is done in big wooden barns that are heavily insulated and hot. Mushroom farms are dirty, grubby places. In between these barns was a lunchroom/office that wasn't yet on fire, but soon would be. I had already decided to let the burning half of the barn go and concentrate on saving the undamaged side, but the trucks still were a ways off, and that office had to be searched, there might be a night shift in the barn, there might be a night watchman, there might be anything or anyone in there. I had to do a quick sweep search to make sure.

I ran up to the door, the fire to my right was hot and moving fairly quickly. When you stand close to a fire this big, the friendly little pops you hear in a campfire sound like gunshots. The heat makes your skin shrink where it contacts you, you don't have a hell of a lot of time.

I tried the doorknob, it was locked. I kicked the door open (Man... i LOVE  doing that!) and walked briskly into the room. Suddenly things got a lot worse. I heard him before I saw him. The low, long, deep growl was almost hypnotic. We are hard-wired right back to our Neanderthal ancestors to hear a sound like that and fear. We have heard sounds like that for millions of years just before dying. Tonight I heard it.

I froze, like all good prey.

My eyes searched the room and saw, crouching in the corner a big, snarling Rottweiller.

In moments like this things can get truly weird. Sometimes I know exactly what to do, sometimes a plan forms in a flash, sometimes it has been formed long ago. Sometimes I fight, sometimes I run, but this time I froze, I had no idea what to do. (I must have been away the day they taught "What to do when you're all alone in a burning building with a snarling black pile of nasty  teeth and muscles" at Firefighter school) If I stood there He'd come at me, if I ran, he'd come at me. Time came off the rails and ground to a tortured halt.

I looked at the dog, who looked at me. I pictured lying on the ground being mauled by this big bastard and dying as the room burned. "What a stupid way to go" ran through my head at warp 9. I got ready to fight for my life, literally.

Sometimes things just arrive in your head, no idea where they come from, but you find yourself like a spectator inside your own head. This was one of those times.

I stepped away from the door and heard myself shout "OUT!" Like I'd shout it at my own dog, this one hesitated and looked toward the door. He saw the glow, smelled the smoke and heard the snapping of the fire, it was a lot closer now. While he looked I saw a broom and grabbed it, it might come in handy as a weapon, it was the only thing that remotely resembled one. Time was running ever shorter even though this had all taken place in less than thirty seconds. The dog looked back at me, he didn't look as lethal anymore, but he sure as hell wasn't going to run out that door by his own choice. He could smell, taste, feel and hear the fire. He wanted no part of it.

Funny how things happen, in moments like that. Only afterward do you say to yourself "Now what the hell made me do that??"

In one desperate movement I brought up the broom and snapped the handle over my knee, the dog jumped a bit and coiled up again. Clearly he was thinking "I am surrounded by danger, and this guy is the only thing I can see that I can attack"

I had a foot or so of broomhandle in my hand, I tossed the rest of it away and shook it in his face. I looked him in those big brown eyes and whispered, like I do to my own dogs....."Stiiiiiiiiiiiick!!"

His ears immediately perked up, it was a pavlovian response, I shook it at him again, tapped it on the ground and said, louder this time "Stiiiiick... GIT IT!!" He started to jump and twitch, to hop around, I snapped it past his face and flung it out the door, without a second's hesitation he took off after it into the smoky darkness. I knew that if he ran fifteen feet he'd be through the smoke and out into the yard and safety. I looked quickly around the room, there was no one there, and took off after him.

The pumper had arrived and the crew was getting ready, I gave my orders and got the crews located. As I stepped back to assess the first crew's attack I felt something wet against my hand.

I looked down and saw a big Rottweiller with a wagging stump of a tail and a stick in his mouth. The lull in the action gave me a chance to throw the stick again. We fought the fire for six hours. Through out the fight, every three or four minutes I had to throw that goddamn stick.

I look back on it and wonder what it would have looked like to a member of the public to see a fire officer playing "fetch" with a Rottweiller while a big barn blazed in the background.

Weird, weird, weird...
 

Epilogue:

We saved the unburned part of the barn. My guys did what they always do so well, and what I'm ferociously proud of them for. They fought hard and smart and all the way. They showed their skill and grit. I love those guys.

The farmer was found to be growing a little more than mushrooms, there was a 600 plant Marijuanna grow operation inside.

My guys were very successful in the firefight, the area that was burning on our arrival was lost, but nothing new burned after we got there. It was a good fire.

The Rottweiller definitely got the best of the deal. He got to play fetch for six straight hours. When I left he was curled up asleep with his stick between his paws.
 
 

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